


5.15

by RaggsEnriches



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angels, Angst, Demons, Fluff, Loss of Immortality, M/M, Post-Canon, Swap Discovery, Torture, a what-if scenario, original idea credit to a tumblr post, turned-human
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-19 06:09:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20326381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaggsEnriches/pseuds/RaggsEnriches
Summary: The swap is discovered.Beelzebub and Gabriel formed a clever truce to figure out what went wrong that fateful day, and now the second trial of Aziraphale and Crowley commences. Their ultimate punishment is second only to death: being stripped of their status as supernatural beings.Now it's up to them to figure out how to regain what they've lost, and how to survive as mortals.





	1. Swings Turn the Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> If you're new to my stories - as I imagine most everyone will be since this is my first writing in this fandom - I sort of live on angst and heartbreak, so just prepare yourself emotionally as best you can.  
And yes, the title does come from a Bowie song (one of my personal favorites).

It started off a normal day. At least, as normal as any day could be for two immortal beings with a decent amount of time on their hands and a fairly wide range of plans. The demon, Crowley, and the angel, Aziraphale, had just met up to sit on their park bench and discuss their own personal deeds of the day.  


Not-Armageddon had occurred five months prior, and the trials of said Angel and Demon had occurred along with it. The two were quite content that both “sides” (neither of which they remained on at this time) were handling the situation the way they best saw fit: with complete ignorance.  


Therefore, their current situation was more relaxed than it might have been had they known what was brewing under their noses.  


“I say, what a lovely day for poor old Britain,” said Aziraphale, who had always been in the habit of the Brits to speak his mind of the weather.  


“Oy, lovely indeed.” Crowley replied absentmindedly. He was intently observing several children playing on the paved path who had suddenly appeared no more than a couple steps away from them.  


“I think we should head out to the countryside if this weather keeps up for the next few days, dear. London’s been terribly confining.”  


Instead of replying as Crowley was apt to do in some sarcastic manner at the mere suggestion they leave the crowded city, he sat straight up, ignoring Aziraphale’s gentle smile. The children nearby had grown closer.  


The Angel did not miss his reaction to the little group of misfits and gave a sigh, “Crowley, I thought you had started trusting the public more.”  


It wasn’t that Aziraphale didn’t understand the sudden mistrust of people that came near either of them. After their escapade five months back, there were far too many moments of anger from Crowley when crowds walked too close or someone shot a curious look in their direction. People had _always_ been shooting curious looks in the direction of both beings regardless of their activities due to their natural auras, and Aziraphale simply did not understand why these people were seen as threats.  
__

_ __ _

His moments of mistrust had slowly started to lessen in frequency as the weeks dragged on and there were no sudden movements from anyone particularly dangerous. It appeared that things were going to be normal for a time.  


The past two months had mostly consisted of dinner and lunch outings for the two of them. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to draw attention. Aziraphale continued to run his bookshop - albeit with a bit of help from a tall stringy man who constantly wore sunglasses and occasionally hissed at customers, and the only people they remained in touch with were Adam, the Them, and Anathema.  


“They’re not public.” hissed Crowley after a pause.  


“Then what are they? They’re children, for pity’s sake, they haven’t done anything to you.”  


“Not yet they haven’t.”  


“You haven’t acted this way for a while now, dear,” Aziraphale began.  


“And so what if I haven’t, Angel? I don’t know if you’ve cared to notice, but those children are not only playing with a stick, but it appears to be made of metal.” said Crowley.  


Indeed, they were. The stick was in fact a crowbar of some sort, and only two of the five children passed it between each other. The other three stood a little ways away with what Aziraphale read as contempt growing on their faces.  


For the first time in two months, Aziraphale and Crowley gradually became aware of the presence of several beings they had believed to be obsolete.  


Three Archangels - Gabriel, Uriel, and Sandalphion - took the places of the three children standing completely still.  


Two demons - Hastur and Beelzebulb - threw their crowbar back and forth with the same glee as children would.  


“Ah. So they are.” He choked back a few words he’d wanted to share with the demons five months ago and sat up a little straighter in the face of fate.  


Crowley had chosen to push his sunglasses back farther onto his face and glower at the beings through them, while slouching back down as far as he could into his seat.  


“Hello, Aziraphale.” Gabriel moved to stand directly in front of the pair. “Demon.”  


Crowley let loose a hiss, “Fancy seeing you lot down here. Care to explain?”  


“We have reliable intel that we were lied to very… terribly.” Beelzebulb said with a piercing stare.  


“Lied to? By me?” the sweet smile from the angel did nothing to lessen the glares from the five supernatural beings. Internally, he was yelling at Gabriel for refusing to call Crowley by his name.  


“You - somehow, by means of which we still have yet to figure out - managed to swap bodies and come to your trials and survive them? Oh, Aziraphale, I do hope you know what sort of trouble you’re in with the higher-ups.” It had to be said that Gabriel managed quite the condescending tone at the best of times, laying it thickly on top of the angel who only continued smiling.  


“I’m sure they’ve heard nothing. We all know it’s not in their department to take care of such matters.”  


“Which is why we have come to collect the both of you,” replied Hastur with a greasy grin, “we’ve worked out a small truce for this, so we need you to be on your best behavior.”  


“A truce? You five? No, you’d never pull off something like that.” Crowley sneered.  


“It was troubling to say the least, but we managed to come to an agreement about what needs to be done to the two of you.” Uriel spoke up, tone far too calm for the discomfort in her body language.  


“Sadly, we cannot do it in view of all of these stupid humans, so we’re going to have to relocate. Bear with us for just a moment, boys.” Gabriel announced and with a snap of his fingers, a flash of light, and a distinct feeling of nausea and regret, both Crowley and Aziraphale found themselves chained to a grey wall.  


The entire room itself was grey. Five chairs were set up in a row facing the two compromised beings. Their persecutors stood in front of the chairs with a remarkable look of pleasure on their faces - as best as each being could pull off with respect as to who they were.  


“Now, Crowley, Aziraphale, we regret to inform you that this is only going to hurt you.” Beelzebulb said with a grimace. They stood front and center. “It will be quite… excitable, for the rest of us.”  


This was said in a manner that implied neither demons nor angels fully understood the emotion “excitement”.  


In the following moment of silence, Aziraphale glanced at his own body: stripped of his familiar set of white and blue clothing, he was left in a robe similar to that of the one he had worn back in Eden, sans fancy gold lacing. Glancing at his companion, he saw that much the same had been done to Crowley, including the removal of his glasses, which were now Hastur’s hands.  


Eyes flaming, Crowley began to struggle against his chains. Going down without a fight was never an option for the Demon, and while Aziraphale understood, he did not wish to react in the same way. His anger was contained internally, where he was becoming increasingly concerned for the state they were about to enter.  


“You’ll never get away with this!” shrieked Crowley, thrashing around this way and that. “You’ve planned this for yourselves - tell me, how did you find out?”  


His tone grew cold and unforgiving, and Gabriel showed displeasure across his face as he answered, once again seemingly unhappy to have to talk to the demon.  


“Surely you know we have our ways. It took us a long time to figure out what we should do, but we quickly came to the conclusion that we could solve this with a bit of, shall we call it, investigation.”  


“Investigating and betrayal are two strikingly different matters, Gabriel. I imagine you have managed to find loopholes to accomplish both?” Aziraphale kept his face neutral, determined not to show any anger until that proved impossible.  


“Funny that you of all angels should consider such a thing as betrayal such a troubling object. I should rather think you have managed to do plenty of damage in that department, after all, look at who you choose to keep company with.”  


The snake-eyed demon beside him hissed at the accusation as though he could possibly protect Aziraphale from anything in their current state.  


“As if any of you’re any better!” growled Crowley.  


“I don’t think you are in any state to be making such claims.” Hastur said. The demon had a smirk on his face a mile wide which showed that at least one of them was enjoying this thoroughly.  


“So tell us your ‘big plan’. What’re you gonna do to us, eh? I’m dying to hear it.” Crowley retorted.  


“For now, we’re going to… observe.” Beelzelbulb crossed their hands in front of them. “You are going to remain under our surveillance while we prepare our punishments for each of you.”  


“You’re going to just leave us in this room because you aren’t even ready to deal out our punishments?”  


“We have to organize the event, of course! Why, we never would do this without an audience.” Gabriel’s wide smile told that this was all his idea.  


“Fantastic.” Crowly muttered.  


“Have fun in prison.” Hastur held up the sunglasses and dropped them, stomping on them with his heel before turning to exit.  


There was a moment or two of awkward silence as the rest stood around staring at one another. Crowley was muttering various swear words underneath his breath, threat after threat after threat. Aziraphale watched the four beings turn and leave with a feeling of uncertainty trailing after them.  


With that, the room was emptied of their apparent enemies, and it appeared that the situation would remain this way until a reasonably assorted audience was called to attention from both Heaven and Hell. The angel turned his head to the demon as if awaiting further instructions.  


“Well,” he sighed, “this is quite the pickle.”  


“Biggest fucking pickle we’ve been in since the last one, angel. Although I’d mark this one considerably worse.”  


What made it worse in Aziraphale’s opinion was that they were trapped in terribly awkward positions. Their hands were chained quite remarkably well just over their heads, and their bodies slumped on the floor, welcoming them to a night of discomfort for their corporeal forms. Not to mention, their legs were tied together in a manner that made it impossible to move them very far, and around Crowley’s neck was a thick metal chain in an effort (no doubt) to keep him from going into snakemode.  


A flash of terror and despair tore through the Angel at the sight of the chains and ropes.  


Crowley was still busy trying to twist himself this way and that with as much anger as he could muster. It was making quite a lot of noise, which was sure to keep attention on them for a while longer from wherever they were being observed. Aziraphale instead chose to sit quietly and try and think about what to do next, although he was pretty sure there was nothing they could do.  


No matter what, Heaven and Hell would get their way. It was how it was always supposed to play out, he supposed, and therefore it would make sense that they were here, now, suffering under the watchful eyes of angels and demons.  


“I don’t suppose you have some sort of lock pick anywhere?” He asked only out of a need to say _something_ after half an hour had passed. The clanking of Crowley’s chains was starting to get to him.  
__

_ __ _

How had they ever assumed that they were going to be safe? Why had he thought there could only be them, and their side?  


And then he turned and caught a glimpse of the yellow-eyed figure beside him, and Aziraphale remembered why.  


“Darling, I should think you need to calm down a bit. If there’s any way to make it through this, it won’t be with much force.” The Angel suggested, nodding to the demon’s writhing body which finally slowed down at the suggestion.  


“And what do you propose we do? Sit and sing at them?”  


“I… I don’t know. There doesn’t appear to be anything we can do, dear.” he hated the fact as much as the next demon.  


Crowley fell silent for a moment that felt far too long for the Angel.  


“Angel, if, well, if this is gonna be it,” said Crowley in a choked voice, “I want…”  


It sounded like all the fight had left the Demon. The very thought upset Aziraphale terribly, he despised the way the man sounded so fatigued.  


“This will not be it.” He said firmly, although he didn’t even half believe it himself.  


The remaining time before their attackers returned was spent in relative silence. Aziraphale and Crowley would glance at each other, then back down at the ground again, and then once more at each other periodically, trying to confirm something neither of them fully understood.  


Ever since their relationship had deepened and ever since Aziraphale had managed to coax some small amounts of affection out of the Demon, it had been far easier to communicate with body language. Certainly 6,000 years of interactions had left them quite capable of nonverbal discussion, but once they’d finally been able to relax around one another, all it took was a simple shake of the head or a firm gaze to read each other’s minds like a book.  


This is why Aziraphale knew instantly what Crowley had been trying to tell him before the words gave out. All that wasn’t said was the mere fact that Crowley wanted to say, at least once more, how he felt and assure the Angel that this was unchanging.  


The Angel easily returned the words with his gentle gaze.

  


In time, as all things do happen, the demons and the angels returned. As they marched in, Uriel snapped her fingers and the walls slid down to reveal glass.  


To their right stood hundreds of Angels in human form, watching with wide blue and purple eyes and standing quite tall and proud. To their left, hundreds of demons crawled amongst each other, growling and hissing and muttering.  


Aziraphale was not surprised by this and he could tell from Crowley’s low hiss that the feeling of despair was mutual. Evidently, Gabriel had not been lying about the prospect of an audience.  


“I hope you’ve enjoyed your brief time here. I wish I could say that it will last, but I know as well as the both of you that this cannot be forever. That would be far too kind.” The tall bastard himself stepped forward, hands clasped.  


“Enough of your loud speeches. Get on with it.” Crowley said. This time, his voice was calm, an emotion they both had agreed was the best method of response.  


“Why should we speed this up? It’s the best part, and none of us are going to want to miss a moment.”  


Another snap, and the Demon and the Angel were now located in the center of the room, each tied to a separate pole. Crowley still had a chain around his neck and Aziraphale had another flash of terror as he realized how far apart they were, only just able to touch hands.  


“The second, _true_ trial of the Demon Crowley and the Angel Aziraphale commences … now.” Beelzebub triumphantly exclaimed in a monotone voice.  
__

_ __ _

“We see it fit that they must suffer for their deeds which they have done in stopping Armageddon, the End Times, and we will now do what we think is a perfectly permissible punishment. If anyone has any objections, then there is no need to voice them.” Sandalphon talked for the first time that he’d been there, and his words were as slow and stupid as ever.  


“And what if we have an objection?” Aziraphale offered, sensing Crowley’s brief pleasure that he was the one asking the questions this time.  


“You are the suspects, not the witnesses.” Beelzebub shrugged.  


Gabriel stepped forward, apparently dressed in his finest of suits and wearing his largest smirk.  


“Now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for: the punishment. In response to their incorrigible actions, we have taken it upon ourselves to strip them of their, well, responsibilities.” He announced.  


Aziraphale ground his teeth to prevent his jaw from dropping. Crowley gave what sounded like a groan of indignation and rage. “Responsibilities” put it lightly. For instead of simply banishing them, the worst possible result imaginable next to instant death had been conjured.  


“Beelzebub and I came to an agreement that it would best fit the two of you. We have limited experience, but we believe we can, what is it you say, ‘rip the wings off the angel’.”  


They were going to be made _mortal_.  
__

_ __ _

The feeling of ice cold horror passed between the two prisoners. Aziraphale looked to Crowley as the pit deepened within his stomach. It was rumored, of course, that the loss of celestial powers was possible. In fact, in the very beginning after the Fall, the Angels of Heaven had assumed that this is what had occurred to the Fallen. (That was before they realized the Fallen had become powerful in a completely new type of way.)  


If one is stripped of their powers, they became in all senses completely mortal and therefore live a life as they would at their present mortal age. They would die a mortal of mortal causes. They would be sentenced to Heaven or Hell according to their deeds.  


This made it impossible to know if a soul was once a demon or an angel, because once doomed it was said they were not the same. They became soulless humans who roamed the Earth the remainder of their years in fear of what was to come.  


“You wouldn’t.” Crowley’s voice shook audibly.  


“How else can we keep you under control? I don’t believe there’s any specific way to harm you with Holy Water or Hell Fire even if you’re not swapped.” Gabriel said.  


“You simply can’t do this without talking to any higher ups,” he tried and it was useless.  


“We don’t need to. The Higher-ups care for neither of you.” Uriel replied.  


“I do hope you enjoy the rest of your little, meager lives.” Hastur slithered forward, an atrocious look on his face.  


“Right, well, let’s begin. It won’t take long. I do hope neither of you are too sensitive to pain.” Gabriel stepped towards a table that had appeared, and beckoned to Beelzebub to join him to collect instruments from it.  


In the remaining moments before their lives fell to pieces, Aziraphale cast one more glance in Crowley’s direction. Bright yellow eyes stared into him, boring with all the intent of a woodpecker at an old tree.  


“Crowley, dear, I…” He tried and failed to procure any proper words just as the Demon had done not long ago.  


The only response he received was a gentle shake of red hair and a hand, which reached in his general direction. He took hold of it with all of his might.  


They were not very touchy-feely, despite the general nature of their relationship. Yet hand holding was not foreign to them, and judging by the way the long-fingered one in his own gripped with unspoken strength, he figured it was what Crowley needed at that moment. There was nothing else to be done.  


Gabriel turned away from the table, holding a glowing machete in his hands and a stern expression on his face. Beelzebub held a similar weapon, but they wore their usual expression of boredom, as though they were always turning demons into mortals. The instruments themselves buzzed with violent energy. These were creations made for this job.  


All around them the demons and angels shouted for it to begin, urgently awaiting the sight they had not witnessed in their thousands of years of existence.  


“Today, you will meet your fates. I hope you enjoy being human.” Gabriel advanced on Aziraphale, raising the knife.  


In the last moments of their immortal lives, the Angel and the Demon maintained firm eye contact. All emotions had evaded their faces, all expressions dead and gone to waste. Silent words of endearment passed between them.  


Scorching pain tore Aziraphale from the last thought shared, one word, _“Aziraphale!”_ and he was blinded by it.  
__

_ __ _

Screams echoed around the grey chamber. These were not mere screams of pain, these were screams of agony. These ripped through everything and everyone with no care for what they left behind. The knives cut into the wings, into the brains and bodies before them and tore like a lion desperate for its food.  


_ __ _

It hurt, it hurt like a million suns beaming down on him. It was bright, it was too bright and Aziraphale despised it. Even Hellfire could not compare to the light that shone in his face as he was engulfed by feelings of despair and anguish. He could feel his throat in his very human body growing sore from the cries that left him.  


_ __ _

Through it all he could somehow still feel the hand that gripped his, tightening evermore as the torture went on and on, drilling into them with such force as would have killed any real human instantly.

_ __ _

And then it was done.

_ __ _


	2. All Legs and Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first consequences of their mortality are encountered.

When the Demon Crowley Fell, the pain had been otherworldly in comparison to what he suffered on Earth later on. Mild cuts and bruises were nothing to the sheer blinding white hot pain that tore through him as he was lost over the chasm. He would often laugh at the folly of humans who thought they knew true pain.  


He had never imagined there could be any pain worse than Falling because it was simply unimaginable.  


And in all the 6,000 years since, he hadn’t had the time to be bothered by the very idea of immense pain.  


Until the day he was stripped of his powers, of his immortality. There were no words to describe it, nothing could be said for it aside from the horrible truth. Now only a mere mortal, everything internally was _on fire_.  
__

_ __ _

Gabriel and Beelzebub stood proudly over the slumped bodies of their victims. Crowley glanced up at them once, twice, three times before he could manage to look anywhere else, because he didn’t want to look anywhere else. Sudden silence had befallen the room and the witnesses as though they had not anticipated these results.  


A charcoal feather floated from seemingly nowhere onto his forehead in a purely ironic test of his patience. For a few minutes, time stopped. All that Crowley could feel was exhaustion and pain coursing through his now mortal body.  


And then he felt a faint movement in his hand, and he remembered that there was a hand in his belonging to someone who was undoubtedly in as much pain as himself. Aziraphale was still there, soft hand gripping with a force that was blocked out by the torture but returned as feeling came back to Crowley’s body.  


“It is done.” said Sandolphon with more than a little pleasure inching into his voice.  


“They are an example to all of you. If you dare betray the word of the Almighty, if you dare turn your back on your cause, you will be subjected to this, the holiest torture.” Gabriel announced grandly. Crowley saw him lift the knife high in the air out of the corner of his eye.  


“We will be back to collect you later.” Beelzebub sniffed and marched out, followed by the rest who stood in the tiny grey room.  


Crowley did not move for a very long time. He was unable to, and he imagined Aziraphale was also hindered by the terrible feeling of muscles rebelling and tearing as they pleased.  


Voices of angels and demons echoed around until they all but disappeared. The crowds had left their windows, bored with the silence. They had come for their show and they had gotten it. It was over for now, and as far as either side was concerned, forever.  


As the sounds faded away into nothingness, Crowley finally found the strength to lift his head ever so slightly from his slumped kneeling position. He looked to find Aziraphale was in much the same state. Beside each of them lay their wings, which looked smaller than normal in the dim lighting as though they had shrunk once they were cut off.  


Everything felt strange, and very, very wrong. He had always had an unlimited power source to pull from and suddenly it was deleted from everything but memory.  


“Thank ssssomeone for that…” he slurred quietly, surprised he could get any words out.  


“C-Crowley?” the hand against his twitched.  


The Demon lifted his head with brute force to look over at the Angel, who was slumped just as he was and looking as worn and ragged as he felt.  


“Aziraphale?” He said softly in reply, ignoring the struggle it took to get his throat to cooperate with him.  


“They… they really did it quite…”  


“Don’t talk.” It was too hard for either of them, they needn’t strain themselves.  


“I…”  


Crowley shook his head weakly, gazing into the soft eyes of the man beside him with hopeless resolve. There was nothing for them to do or say now, and they were both in far too much pain to consider any sort of discussion. Now it was a matter of waiting to see if the torment would end soon.  


The public trial was certainly unexpected, most of all from Heaven. Word would pass around far more quickly this time. Triumph would grace the faces of Angels and Demons even if they did not know the victims. It was in the nature of the celestial beings to feel a communal sense of glory when such events happened.  


For the two victims, Crowley thought, it was a matter of shame and dismay; and waiting.  


Waiting in pain for the right moment when they would find themselves back on Earth and amongst the humans. Amongst humans as humans, a thought he truly could not wrap his head around. Instead of bothering to think about it any longer, Crowley shoved the thought down into the depths of his mind and settled on trying to dull the pain as best he could. 

  
  


The next time Gabriel arrived, it was alone. Crowley marked that this was rather unusual given the fact that Angels seemed to move in packs, but he was unable to make any comments since he was still fighting down the pain. An unthinkable amount of hours had gone by and everything still hurt.  


“Ah, hello again gentlemen. I do hope your stay here in our little chamber has been enjoyable. I do have to let you go now, but I’m sure it won’t be too much trouble for you to do whatever it is you do down on Earth now. You’re going to fit in quite well.” The Angel did his favorite hand clap and smiled broadly.  


“Just… jussst a question, Gabe…” Crowley said, somehow finding the ability to speak more than one word. “But er… have you t-told anyone higher-up about thisss?”  


“Here’s the thing, Ex-demon, I am essentially the higher-up. I make many of the executive decisions for all Angels and I do believe that anyone who is considered above me is perfectly fine with this arrangement. They of course know about it, why wouldn’t I have told them? It won’t cost me anything.”  


“Great.”  


“Anyways, as I said, I do hope the stay here has been, well, eventful, and now we’re all going to have to go home and think about what we’ve done. Farewell!” said Gabriel, and he grandly waved.  


A violent force shoved into Crowley and his eyesight spun for a few moments before he found he had landed back into the park bench they had started in. Fortunately, no one was seated in it. If any park-goers noticed the sudden appearance of two incredibly tired and broken men, they didn’t mention it. (He later realized what might’ve helped with that was the fact that it was 9:00 in the evening.)  


Crowley found that he had landed nearly on top of Aziraphale, who was slumped against the armrest with a dazed look in his eyes. It was not as though the position was completely unfamiliar to them - they had spent a fair share of their evenings leaning against one another in the past months - but this was never the cause of such an event.  


“That prat expects us to get home like this.” Aziraphale’s voice held little emotion in it.  


“Yessss well what did you expect?” He despised that his own voice continued to hiss with every “S”. Surely that shouldn’t be happening, since after all he was no longer a demon?  


“Perhaps a little closer.” replied the once-Angel.  


Aziraphale was right of course, they would have to move in order to get anywhere relatively out of sight from the public. Yet it hurt to even think about walking. He had never enjoyed walking, it was something he still couldn’t quite get a handle on even after 6,000 years, and now it seemed like a challenge just to sit up.  


They sat there just trying to catch their breath - because now they had to breath all the time - for just a few more minutes. It was going to take a Herculean effort to stand.  


“Crowley?” asked Aziraphale, moving his body the tiniest bit.  


“Yess?”  


“We should try to stand.”  


The groan that came out of his lips as he pushed himself upwards was loud enough to upset a nearby bird. Crowley swore as he came to what felt like standing, but was probably more akin to being on his knees; Aziraphale came up in a similar manner.  


“That was …” he mumbled and found that his arm had suddenly become laced in Aziraphale’s.  


“Let’s focus on getting back, dear.”  


An hour later, they stood facing the bookshop doors with similar looks of twisted pain etched onto their faces. There had been nothing but glances from the hundreds of humans - fellow people - they passed as they’d marched ever onward, gripping each other and grumbling and crying out softly. Crowley had emitted “fuck” several thousand times and Aziraphale had barely been able to keep his count any lower.  


Staggering up the steps, Crowley pulled himself off of Aziraphale and stumbled into the bookshop, nearly landing on his face as he fell. Somehow he found himself on a couch in the backroom without remembering exactly how he got there and with Aziraphale collapsed beside him.  


“What are we going to do?” He had never heard the other man sound so completely hopeless before. Exhaustion permeated Aziraphale’s voice, mingled with a distinct fear that Crowley knew was caused by concern for him.  


“I don’t know.”  


“I was going to… to mention it earlier, dear, but your eyes, they…you don’t need your sunglasses, Crowley.” said Aziraphale.  


Crowley tensed completely, “They’re… what happened to them?”  


“They’re still golden. You simply aren’t a serpent anymore.”  


The redhead stood up with another groan and marched over to a mirror hanging precariously off a shelf. Looking back at him was a normal, human face. He had pupils, real human pupils, not slits; and his tattoo had disappeared. He felt the blood drain out of his face.  


“Crowley? Come back and sit down, you’ll collapse.”  


“And so what if I do? I’m already nearly dead, Aziraphale.” replied the Ex-Demon, finally mourning the loss of everything.  


Despite his grief, he returned to the couch without another word. For now, there was nothing more they could do. This was permanent. This was final.  


The only thing stopping Crowley from having a crisis over his sudden existential terror was the feeling of Aziraphale’s hands in his hair as he lay his head back down on the ex-Angel’s lap. The blond man could always keep him grounded and safe from his darker thoughts, even if it was mere touches that worked magic.  


Aziraphale bent down and kissed him gently on the forehead as his fingers carded through the red hair. It was almost as though nothing had happened in those brief moments of ecstasy. They could pretend they were still supernatural beings with all the power in the world.  


“Let’s get you to bed.” said Aziraphale softly.  


Something told Crowley that the other man would be joining him in sleep tonight.  


Pain still radiated through his body, and while the injuries were mostly invisible on the outside, his insides felt like jelly. He was certain Aziraphale felt the same, and was not surprised when they both climbed into the bed and he wrapped around the slightly smaller man.  


It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep despite the waves of agony continuing to tear through him. As he dozed off, he hoped Aziraphale was able to find a peaceful sleep as well. 

  
  


Brilliant sunlight streamed in through the windows and the slightly muffled sounds of city life came up through the floorboards. Crowley opened his eyes blearily to find he was still facing the back of a blond head. Aziraphale had apparently managed to sleep, which may have been a new side effect from the whole “completely human” thing.  


He scoffed quietly to himself and felt the body against his move a little.  


“Crowley?”  


“Yes, Angel?” He was never not going to use the term and it seemed like there was no new negative reaction to it.  


“Just… checking. Does it still…” asked Aziraphale.  


“Every muscle in my body is screaming at the slightest of movements, if that’s what you’re asking.” He replied. No need to be extremely harsh at this time in the morning - whatever time that was.  


“Ah, good. I was worried I’d be alone in that.”  


The other man turned his body so he was facing Crowley completely now, who decided to analyze Aziraphale’s face with some concern. His stress wrinkles seemed more visible than ever, and his soft eyes of unidentifiable color held pain in them that could not simply be wished away.  


“How are we going to do this?” Crowley only asked because he still could hardly fathom their current reality.  


“If you didn’t know the answer to the very question last night, I don’t expect I know it now.” Aziraphale laid a hand on his face as he replied, cupping Crowley’s cheek gently. The ex-demon tried not to lean into the touch.  


He sighed, “I don’t know how to live like a true human. 6,000 years and you’d think we’d picked up on enough.”  


“I think we’ve picked up on the bare minimum.”  


Crowley wanted to argue that of course they’d picked up on the minimum, but they knew the minimum wasn’t what it took to survive in the world of humanity and why would Aziraphale ever suggest that minimum would even get them to last a week? - but he feigned from doing so. It was hard to argue with someone who was staring at you with all the affection in the world beaming from their eyes, even for Crowley who’d practiced ignorance in the face of feelings for years.  


“Let’s focus on simply getting breakfast for right now, dear.”  


While he’d never been one for eating food on any sort of a routine, the conviction the other man said it with convinced Crowley to get out of bed and follow Aziraphale down the stairs. They both let out small groans of pain as they inched to the kitchen hidden behind the back room in a slug-like fashion.  


The ginger slumped down into a chair as soon as he reached it, spine aching. Damn did it hurt.  


“I’ll… er, well, set up a bit of tea and then…” Aziraphale quieted quickly.  


The sudden silence alerted Crowley and he sat up a little straighter.  


“Angel? Aziraphale, what is it - come here…” he said as the other man turned round with a glaring look of horror on his face.  


Aziraphale did not move toward him, instead he collapsed where he stood into a heap on the ground. Crowley moved faster than he should’ve been able to given his current state. Pain didn’t matter when the only other person on the planet who he cared for other than himself was sitting miserably on the floor of the kitchen.  


“It all… hit me so suddenly, dear.” replied Aziraphale finally, now in an embrace initiated by the taller man. “I haven’t quite had the time to process exactly what happened and now…”  


“Now it’s final.” He murmured, nodding in painful agreement.  


“How did you not - was that what happened at the mirror last night?”  


There was no response to the question, which clearly was taken as a “yes”. Crowley had pushed himself to the floor so he could hold Aziraphale in his arms in a much gentler embrace than he normally would. Any other time and maybe he would’ve been snarkier; but today there was no sarcasm, no wit to be found. Only pain and the reminder that nothing was as it should be or had been and it never would again.  


They were humans, for fuck’s sake. Mortals with nothing left to do but go on living in a world that now would outlast them. And all because Heaven and Hell were too cunning, and had discovered their secret.  


A secret Crowley had wanted to keep for so much longer. He had known the danger, he had known that it was going to happen sometime, but this was not the final punishment he had imagined.  


Killing them would have been too much, evidently. If they were dead, what sort of lesson would they leave behind?  


“A poor one.” Aziraphale responded, head still in the crook of his neck. Crowley stiffened when he realized he’d been speaking the last few thoughts aloud.  


“Angel, I…” he faltered, then said nothing more.  


No words expressed the emotions flowing between them. Despite their loss of powers and apparent telepathy, Crowley knew that they could still sense each other’s emotions for at least for a little while longer. Maybe this too was a residual of the powers lost, and it would fade with time.  


He did not know and he did not want to know. The warm body against his shook with tears that had built up for hours.  


A silent few tears escaped Crowley himself. He may have always been a complete wreck but this time he was holding his emotions in with an iron fist. An iron fist that demanded no water would escape his eyes. No water would - he lost his battle for the first time in millenia, for the first time because he was human.  


They remained a muddled sobbing lump on the floor until the sun was at its highest, breakfast having been completely and utterly forgotten. 

  
  


It was an uneventful day in London. They did nothing but lay on the couch, occasionally breaking down in each other’s arms, mostly sitting against one another with thoughts spinning through their heads.  


Crowley lost count of the amount of times he drifted into a light sleep only to be awoken by soft questions from Aziraphale, who marveled in terror at their humanity. What was going to be done? Who was going to help them? Was there any hope?  


And the ex-Demon continued to not have any answers to these questions. The only thing keeping him grounded was the feeling of Aziraphale’s body beneath his, and a steady heartbeat near his ears. Answering such questions would send him into a frenzy that this strangely peaceful state did not need to be interrupted by.  


Besides, he was spending brain power simply trying to understand what being human meant.  


“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, late into the evening hours.  


“Yeah?”  


“We are going to figure this out, my dear.”  


“We are? And how, might I ask, are we going to achieve that?” He tried to tilt his head up from where it was on Aziraphale’s chest to gaze up at the man with little success.  


“Well, firstly, we’re going to get a nice long night of sleep. I believe this is not so difficult as I once thought it was, especially not now, and we’re going to need it if we have to start our lives over tomorrow.”  


“Awfully fast, don’t you think?”  


“I think it’s best if we … well if we try, darling. I know it is terribly hard and neither of us want to do anything for a hundred years if we could help it, but we don’t have that long. Not anymore.” said the blond, sadness creeping into his voice as he said the last few words.  


“How the bloody hell do we start over?” He replied.  


“Crowley, if you keep - oh, I don’t know. I suppose we’re going to have to actually acquire money as opposed to miracling it into existence. And we might have to learn to cook,” Aziraphale haughtily spoke as best he could, yet the man lying against him could hear the teasing affection leaking through his voice.  


“Well I won’t let you touch the stove, you’ll probably blow it up,” he sniped back.  


“Yes, yes…”  


They eventually came to a consensus that they would indeed go the store tomorrow and buy food which they were going to need now more than ever. Crowley admitted during the conversation that he was terribly hungry at that very minute since they’d skipped all meals that day in favor of crying. This was soon put to amend as Aziraphale pulled out a few pieces of bread, cheese, and ham that wasn’t terribly old. It wouldn’t have mattered to Crowley, food was food.  


Once they were moderately satisfied, he coerced Aziraphale to go to bed early so they could sleep as late as they liked. Even if they now had human responsibilities, he didn’t want to consider them yet. Not to mention, he was bone-tired and every muscle still ached with incredible pain.  


“We’ll start over tomorrow…” Aziraphale climbed in beside him.  


“Yes.” He looked over at the other man from where he lay on his back.  


“Crowley do you - do you think we should perhaps reach out to someone else? I know it’s not as though we’ve been in a lot of touch with those people we met, but I’ve talked to Anathema a bit since then and she’s stayed in England, watching over those children. Surely she could help us adjust?”  


“That whole lot? I think if we need them we’re in serious shit.” He said, snorting a little and laying a long arm around Aziraphale who was curled against his side.  


“I simply thought maybe it would be the best course of action. We don’t know how to live like humans all the time, so it may be that we find we need all the help we can get.” replied Aziraphale a little testily.  


Crowley didn’t want to get into any serious arguments any time soon, and quickly backed off of his stance, “If it comes to pass, we’ll ask.”  


“Right then.”  


He ignored the smug overtone in Aziraphale’s voice, and leant in to place a gentle kiss on the other man’s forehead. Right now they needed a lot more sleep before they thought any harder about the future. Whatever lay ahead of them, Crowley figured, it could wait until a good night’s rest was gotten.  


The response to the forehead kiss was a head tilt that lead to a deeper kiss. They weren’t usually terribly affectionate, but the newer aspects of their relationship beckoned for such actions when the mood overtook them.  


Breaking apart, Crowley quietly settled his head back down on the pillow. Perhaps the strangest aspect of humans was the fact that they needed to breath, a sensation he had never felt before. Their kiss had been affected by it, the need to get air was sudden and regretful.  


“Let’s get some sleep, Angel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have misspelled Sandalphon - and I would apologize if it wasn't for the fact that I simply don't care for him as a character at all because he's himself and so I hope no one minds.  
All kudos/comments are eccentrically appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter is one of the shorter ones, and I have three others ready to go, and one that's beating me over the head with writer's block that I'm determined to overcome. I can't promise a regular upload schedule as I get closer to the beginning of school, but I will do my best to update and complete it in a decent time span.  



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